Murder in Bloom (6 page)

‘I’ve persuaded him to tell the police whatever he knows,’ said Libby. ‘That’s what he wanted to talk to me about.’

‘So what does he know?’

‘Oh – who sold him the house. That’s all, really.’

‘The police will know that already, surely?’

‘I would have thought so,’ said Libby. How would the police
not
know who owned the house? How it had been sold? They knew Lewis had only recently moved in.

Lewis returned to the table and sat down.

‘That super’s coming back this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Wants to talk to me.’ He shot another glance at Libby.

‘Well, that’s good,’ she said and stood up. ‘I must get back. Thanks for the lunch, Katie. See you on Sunday, Ad?’

Adam nodded, looking at Lewis.

Katie stood up. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.

At the front door, she led Libby outside and lowered her voice. ‘I’ll make sure he tells her everything,’ she said. ‘Can you come back if he wants to talk to you again?’

‘I’ll talk to him if he wants to phone me, but I honestly don’t see what I can do,’ said Libby. ‘I’m no private investigator. I’m just Adam’s mum.’

Katie’s mouth drew down disapprovingly. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m going back to London this weekend, so I can’t keep an eye on him.’

‘Oh, Katie, what do you expect me to do? I don’t even know him.’

‘He wanted to talk to you.’ Katie’s mouth was now set in a stubborn line.

‘I know, but what Lewis wants he doesn’t always have to get,’ said Libby. ‘He’s an ordinary mortal, you know, just like my Adam.’

Katie sighed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him he can phone you.’

And I bet he will, thought Libby, as she drove back towards Nethergate. All the bloody time.

Chapter Six

BY THE TIME LIBBY met Ben at seven o’clock, Lewis had called at least five times. After the first two calls, Libby had let the answerphone take the messages and wished she’d signed up for caller identification when she missed a call from Ben.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said now, sitting down opposite him at a table by the empty fireplace. ‘What was it you wanted?’

‘To see if you wanted to go somewhere else,’ he said. ‘You could have called me back.’ ‘I did,’ said Libby with a sigh, ‘and got your voicemail.’

‘Oh.’ Ben frowned and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Bugger. So you did. I didn’t hear it. Must have been in the shower.’

‘So we’re even,’ said Libby, sipping her lager. ‘Ah, I needed that.’

‘Why were you call screening, then?’ asked Ben.

Resignedly, Libby told him everything that had happened since the morning.

‘I have genuinely tried to put him off, Ben, you can ask Adam and this Katie North person. That’s why I was trying not to take his calls. He’d already called twice before I stopped answering.’

‘What did he say, then?’ Despite himself, Ben was looking interested.

‘Oh, the superintendent hadn’t arrived then. He was just blathering about what he should tell her. But as I said, the police will already know who owned the house previously and they’ll probably know all about this seemingly dodgy house purchase, too, so all he’s got to do is tell them everything including who this Tony person is so he can’t be accused of impeding the investigation.’

‘It does sound a bit off, doesn’t it?’ mused Ben, twirling his glass absently. ‘Why on earth would Lewis buy a house like that? Why was he so scared of letting on? What did he think Tony was going to tell the tabloids?’

‘I think there must be more to it than he told me,’ said Libby. ‘After all, the general public know he’s gay.’

‘But they don’t know that’s why he got the
Housey Housey
gig, or his own show. It’s payola under another name, isn’t it?’

‘And this Tony didn’t want his name revealed. I wonder who he is?’

‘I’ve been racking my brain to think of a high-profile person with media connections in Hampstead,’ said Ben.

‘We don’t know he has media connections, do we?’

‘You said he got Lewis on to
Housey Housey
and then leant on someone to get him his own programme.’

‘Yes, but that sounds as though he has connections with the Mafia, not the media.’ Libby squinted at her glass. ‘And I still don’t know why he wanted Lewis to have his own show. It couldn’t have been for sexual favours, could it? He’d already had those.’

Ben sighed. ‘I don’t know. And we didn’t come here to talk about it, either.’

Libby looked up. ‘You wanted to know.’

‘I know, I know.’ He reached over and patted her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit pushy, haven’t I?’

‘Not pushy, exactly.’ Libby looked down at his hand. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Ben.’

He turned over her hand and gripped it. ‘I don’t want to lose you, either. I’m just not entirely happy with the status quo.’

‘Adam says that’s the woman’s argument.’

‘Discussing me with your son, eh?’ Ben dropped her hand and leant back.

‘Yes, because he guessed how you would feel. No – he actually
knew
how you’d feel. And he told me off.’

‘On my side, then, is he?’

‘Firmly,’ said Libby. ‘I always wondered how the kids would feel if I wanted to get married again.’

‘Is that why you’ve always said you wouldn’t?’

‘No, I lost faith in marriage. As I said to Adam, my ex and yours both went off with other people, so it’s no protection.’

‘You don’t get married just for protection,’ said Ben. ‘That’s medieval.’

‘No profession of commitment, then.’

‘It is, Lib. Just because some people change, it doesn’t mean they didn’t mean it at the time.’

‘So what’s the point, then? If you’re not saying “I will love and stay with you for ever”? You can do that without benefit of the law.’

Ben frowned. ‘Why did Harry and Pete get hitched, then?’

‘To prove to the world that they meant it?’

‘That’s one interpretation. Pete wanted to tell the world he loved Harry. And it probably meant more for them to do it than a heterosexual couple.’

‘We’re talking in circles,’ said Libby. ‘I love you.’ She felt herself going pink. ‘But I still don’t see the point in getting married. I wish you could talk me round.’

‘Perhaps wishing it is the first step?’ Ben smiled slightly. ‘I’ll just have to hope so, won’t I? But meanwhile, I think we’d better stick to our own establishments, don’t you?’

Libby’s mouth fell open in horror. ‘You mean –’

‘I’ll go home every night,’ said Ben. ‘You can invite me for a meal now and then, of course.’

‘That’s big of you,’ muttered Libby.

‘Meanwhile – how about dinner?’

‘You mean – er – what do you mean?’ Libby scowled at him. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’

‘Oh, I am, I am. More seriously than you are. And I meant would you like dinner here tonight?’

‘Oh.’ Mollified, Libby sat back. ‘Yes please.’

Since the success of The Pink Geranium, Harry’s ‘caff’ as he called it, the pub, much beloved of calendar makers, had upped its game on the dining front, and now provided home-made food that was beginning to rival the local gastro-pub. Despite the excellence of her steak and ale pie, Libby found the meal hard going. The atmosphere was worse than it had been the very first time they had been out together, much worse, in fact. Libby was still wondering why things had changed so much between them almost without warning, when Ben asked, ‘How are young Jane and Terry?’

Libby’s heart sank. ‘Fine,’ she said.

‘They’re getting married, too, aren’t they?’ Ben said casually, not looking at her.

‘Yes.’ Libby refrained from asking how he knew. ‘And all you’re doing, you know, is causing me to dig my heels in. The more you drop hints, or issue ultimata, the more stubborn I shall be. Exactly as I am about smoking. The more the bloody government preach at me, and ban me from doing things, the more I shall insist on doing them. No one has the right to dictate to me how I live my life. I shall continue to live it according to my own lights.’ She sighed, pushed her plate away and stood up. ‘It was a lovely meal, thank you, Ben. You must let me buy you dinner some time.’ She picked up her basket, noting the expression on his face with satisfaction. ‘Good night.’

As she walked down the high street in the gathering gloom she kept her ears pricked for his footsteps behind her, but they never came. By the time she turned into Allhallow’s Lane she was feeling slightly embarrassed about her outburst. The lilac hanging over the wall wafted perfume under her nose, and the long racemes dusted her hair as she plodded along towards number 17, a red-brick terraced cottage opposite a tiny green, where Romeo the Renault sat parked under a hawthorn tree, and Sidney the silver tabby regarded the world from the window.

By the time Libby opened the door and stumbled down the step, Sidney was on his favourite stair, trying to tell her that he had been waiting there for her for simply hours.

‘Don’t lie,’ said Libby, slipping her light jacket off and tossing it, with her basket, onto the small table in the window. The lump in her throat was growing bigger and bigger, and she decided the only thing to do was drown it in a large glass of red wine. With a cigarette, she added viciously, even though she hardly ever smoked these days.

Provided with these aids to recovery, she sat down, turned on the television and promptly burst into tears.

The following morning, she packed up several small canvases to take into Nethergate for Guy’s gallery-cum-shop. She was always surprised that these paintings sold so well, but Guy wasn’t. ‘Nethergate,’ he always said, ‘is a very old-fashioned resort, with what is normally called “a nice Class of Visitor”. They much prefer an original to a mass-produced version, even though that might be cheaper. And we keep yours at a reasonable price.’

When she arrived, she found Fran in the shop, sitting beside Sophie, Guy’s daughter, going through a magazine. Guy grinned and nodded towards them.

‘Wedding magazine,’ he explained. ‘Sophie thinks it’s Christmas.’

‘She’s pleased, then?’

‘Over the moon. She’s always liked Fran. I think for a bit she was afraid I was going to team up with you.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ said Libby, unwrapping brown paper.

‘You’re too volatile and extrovert for me, she thinks. I need a calming influence.’

‘Too much like a bull in a china shop you mean,’ muttered Libby.

Guy put his head on one side. ‘Sometimes,’ he agreed. ‘I have heard it said.’

‘By Ben and Pete, mainly.’ Libby pushed the brown paper and string aside and stood the paintings up. ‘There.’

‘Very nice,’ said Guy approvingly. ‘A few different ones this time.’

‘Jane and Terry let me use their front windows for a different perspective,’ said Libby. ‘Now old Mrs Finch has gone, they’ve been doing up the basement flat, so I’m not in their way.’

‘To let?’ asked Guy.

‘No. They’re going to turn Peel House back into one dwelling and ask Jane’s mother if she’d like to come and live in the flat. It’s got its own entrance and the garden, so she’d be quite comfortable.’

‘But I thought she was a dragon? Fran said she was awful.’

‘She is. But Jane’s thinking ahead. Her mum isn’t getting any younger and if she needs care of any sort, Jane’s a long way away. Also, she’d be a built-in baby-sitter.’

‘Baby? She’s not pregnant?’ Guy looked aghast. ‘No.’ Libby giggled. ‘But they
are
getting married, and they’re not into their dotage yet.’

‘They’re having the full church do, though, aren’t they?’ Guy cast a loving glance at his fiancée and daughter. ‘Not like us.’

‘No.’ Libby couldn’t help heaving a gusty sigh. ‘What’s up, Lib?’ Guy lifted her chin with a finger. ‘Problems?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Libby looked at him unwillingly.

‘Hmm.’ Guy dropped his hand. ‘Fran, shall we go and have a coffee? Soph, will you shop-sit for a bit?’

‘Sure,’ she said, her blonde curtain of hair falling over her eyes. ‘Bring me back a latte, will you?’

‘Latte,’ scoffed Guy. ‘Why it can’t be plain and simple black or white coffee, I don’t know.’

‘Nobody of our generation does,’ said Fran, tucking her arm through his as they strolled along Harbour Street towards the Blue Anchor café. ‘Neither does Mavis, really, but she does her best.’

Mavis was flicking a cloth over the outside tables at the Blue Anchor and greeted them with a gloomy nod and a tin ashtray. Libby glanced guiltily at Guy and Fran and lit up.

‘I thought you were stopping,’ said Fran, an accusing note in her voice.

‘Fran.’ Guy dug her in the ribs. ‘Come on, then, Lib. Tell us all about it.’

‘Three coffees,’ said Mavis, appearing with a tray. When Mavis returned to the interior of the café, Libby told Fran and Guy about Ben’s reaction to their marriage. Fran was horrified.